Salvation (16 page)

I reached up and gingerly touched the
back of my head, then drew in my breath as pain shot through me, making my
headache worse. My fingertips were bloody when I pulled them away.

“Trevor, what happened?”

Jamie had been walking past the locker
room, and he rushed to my side.

“I’m okay,” I said automatically.

“No you’re not. Let me see.” He cupped
my head gently while he brushed aside the hair around the injury.

I murmured, “Did you know that if you
get roughed up at a bus stop in San Francisco in broad daylight, no one even
slows down? A hundred cars must have driven past while this was happening. I
would never do that, I’d stop and try to help. But I guess that’s not true for
the majority of people.”

“Were you mugged?”

“No. My cousin’s psycho baby daddy
tracked me down, which showed more brain function than I’d thought he was
capable of. For fun, he bounced my skull off the bus stop shelter a couple
times.”

“I can’t tell how bad it is, there’s too
much blood matting your hair. We need to clean this up,” Jamie said.

“I really didn’t mean to bring all this
drama to work,” I said quietly.

“We’re a family here at the bar, Trevor,
we look out for each other. If you’re going through some stuff, I want to know
about it.” I nodded in agreement, which made my head throb. As I squinted from
the pain, he said, “I’ll be right back. Don’t get up, okay?”

“No problem there.” I let my eyes slide
shut.

He was back about a minute later with a
cloth, a basin of warm water, and his husband Dmitri, who sat beside me and
rubbed my back as Jamie gently washed the wound. “I’m fine,” I insisted. “I
just have a headache. You guys don’t have to fuss over me.”

“But we enjoy fussing over people,”
Dmitri said, his smile framed by his cute dimples. “Let us have our fun.”

After he cleaned me up, Jamie tried to
insist on taking me to the hospital to get checked out, despite the fact that
the wound on my head turned out to be pretty small. He was worried that I had a
concussion. I was pretty sure that wasn’t the case though and only agreed to a
couple ibuprofen and a glass of water. They next tried to send me home with
pay, but I turned that down too. By then, I knew I was fine.

The two of them finally let me get to
work, though there was some definite hovering for a while until they were
convinced I wasn’t going to collapse face-down into a plate of Irish Nachos.
The couple eventually headed back to their office hand-in-hand, after telling
the entire staff to keep an eye on me and make sure I was okay. It was a good
feeling, knowing someone cared about what happened to me.

Chapter
Ten

I’d totally been set up.

This was evident within about three seconds
of entering the huge kitchen in the oceanfront villa where Christopher and
Kieran were getting married on Saturday. The restaurant where I worked had
closed for a week beginning this morning, a Monday. I’d planned on meeting
River for some pre-wedding strategizing, but then I received a frantic call
from Nana. She’d claimed the kitchen where we’d be preparing the food for the
wedding was a complete disaster, filthy and with absolutely no pots, pans, or
cooking utensils. “We gotta get down there
now
, Trevor, and straighten
it out, otherwise there’s no way we’re going to be able to cook for the
wedding. It’ll all be ruined,” she’d said. “I’m sending a car and driver for
you in fifteen minutes, we got a ton of work to do to get ready!”

I’d quickly jumped in the shower, then
got dressed and packed my things in the ratty old backpack I’d had since high
school. It didn’t take long, since I only owned six articles of clothing. I was
outside waiting on the curb with time to spare.

A few minutes later, a black town car
pulled up and a driver in a dark suit got out to open the door for me. “Where’s
Mrs. Dombruso?” I’d asked. The driver informed me she’d be traveling
separately. I shrugged that off, then climbed into the spacious backseat. There
were three big shopping bags behind the driver’s seat which I figured had
nothing to do with me, so I ignored them.

It took nearly three hours to drive from
San Francisco to Big Sur. The last leg of the drive was really pretty as the
highway hugged the rugged coastline. Sunlight sparkled off the blue Pacific,
and I relaxed and pretended I was on vacation.

It turned out I didn’t need to pretend.

I’d knocked when I arrived at the
gorgeous, sprawling Mediterranean villa, even though Nana had told me the
homeowner was gone on a cruise. When no one answered, I unlocked the door with
the key the driver had handed me. He removed the shopping bags from the
backseat, and when I got the door open he lined them up in the foyer.

“Thanks for the ride,” I called as he
returned to the car.

“Not a problem,” the driver muttered as
he got back behind the wheel. I’d found out over the last three hours that he
wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

The town car pulled out of the circular
drive as I closed the huge, carved wood door. After dropping my backpack on the
glazed tile floor, I glanced around me. The Mediterranean theme continued
inside with stucco walls, lush potted plants, and a warm color palette,
dominated by gold and terra cotta tones. I went to find the kitchen, where the
theme carried through seamlessly in rustic dark wood cabinets and rich honey
granite counters.

 The kitchen was not only
spotlessly clean, it was stocked like the set of a gourmet cooking show with
every imaginable cooking implement, pot, pan, appliance and gadget. I was at a
loss as to why Nana had sent me on ahead for no reason, but then some movement
caught my eye outside, through a set of open French doors. Vincent was across
the huge yard, his back to me, trimming a hedge. I hadn’t heard a word from him
since he took off over a week ago, even though I’d left him three messages. But
now here he was.

Apparently, Nana was pimping me out.

This was confirmed when I cut back
through the house and took a peek inside one of the shopping bags, pulling
aside the white tissue paper. “Holy crap,” I muttered, a furious blush
immediately warming my face. The bag was practically bursting at the seams with
the most embarrassing things I could possibly imagine. A huge box of condoms
and a bottle of lube big enough for an entire gay NFL team were among the first
things I noticed. A bright blue bit of fabric caught my eye. I almost didn’t
want to look, but I just had to. I plucked the little turquoise thing out with
two fingers. It caught on something, so I had to give it a hard tug. It came
free, but not before setting off something deeper inside the bag, which started
making a low buzzing sound.

I took a look at the little pair of
underwear in my hands. Oh. Dear.
God
. The tag told me they’d cost almost
sixty dollars, and had come from a men’s boutique in the Castro called Shag. I
dropped them back into the bag, which was still buzzing and also vibrating
slightly, then retreated across the foyer and pulled out my phone.

Nana answered on the first ring with a
cheerful, “Helloooo.”

“Please tell me you weren’t the one who
went shopping at Shag,” I said.

“Why, you think old women can’t buy sexy
stuff? Don’t be ageist! I brought my gay homosexual hairdresser Mr. Mario along
to act as a consultant. We had to guess your size, but I think we probably got
pretty close.”

“My size for what?” I asked, horrified,
still thinking about whatever was buzzing at the bottom of that bag.

“Clothes, silly. Didn’t you look in the
bags?”

“I only got as far as the condoms and
tiny man-panties.”

“We picked out a few cute summer clothes
for you. No offense sweetie, but if I see you wearing that ratty old cardigan
even one more time, I’m ripping it off you and setting it on fire.”

“You bought more than clothes, though.”

“I instructed Mr. Mario to pick out anything
he thought would be fun for a gay homosexual honeymoon. That’s kind of what
this is like, I think, an early honeymoon while you kids get to know each
other.”

“So what’s the plan here, Nana? Am I
supposed to doll myself up and go throw myself at your grandson? Because like I
told you, Vincent won’t even return my calls.”

“My grandson is an idiot! Don’t tell him
I said that. You’re what he needs, Trevor. I’m sick of seeing him moping and
alone, and it seemed like you were getting ready to give up on him, just
because he hadn’t picked up the phone. Both of you needed a big push in the
right direction!”

“But, Nana—”

“But nothing! Are you at the house yet?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Is my grandson there?”

“He’s working out back. Why is he
trimming hedges?”

“I told him he had to go early and fix
up the overgrown landscaping, or else the wedding photos would be ruined. He
fell for it just like you did.” She sounded immensely pleased with herself.

“Why would that be a job for Vincent?”

“Gardening is his hobby, he’s real good
at it. You’ve seen my yard, he did all of that. He’s also got this roomful of
orchids going over here, it’s pretty impressive if you like that kind of
thing.”

“Ah.”

“Does he know you’re there?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go say
hello!”

“This is such a terrible idea.”

“Humor an old woman.”

“Oh, don’t play the age card, Nana.
You’re not old.”

She chuckled and said, “You’re right.
Now go say hi, for the love of God! Do I need to do
everything
?”

“Okay, okay, I’ll go.”

“River and I will be there Friday
morning to begin the prep for Saturday’s big event, and Christopher, Kieran and
a few of their close friends are arriving some time Thursday evening. That
gives you and Vinnie three days and nights to get to know each other. Byeeee!”
She hung up on me.

I sighed and put the phone in my pocket,
then went back through the house and stepped out the French doors. Vincent’s
back was still to me. He wore nothing but a pair of khaki shorts and white
sneakers, his olive skin glistening with sweat, the powerful muscles in his
back and shoulders working as he trimmed a vine. Two thin cords ran from
earbuds to what was probably an iPod in his pocket. He had no idea I was there,
and since he was holding a huge set of clippers I thought it was probably best
not to startle him.

As I waited for him to notice me, I took
in my surroundings. The huge, perfectly manicured lawn was surrounded by
colorful flowerbeds full of exotic-looking blooms, mostly in shades of red,
yellow and orange. I recognized clusters of birds of paradise and huge stands
of bougainvilleas, but not much else, since plants really weren’t my area of
expertise. The garden ended abruptly, giving way to a sheer cliff face and an
unobstructed view of the Pacific, which was maybe sixty feet below. It was all
just stunningly beautiful and tranquil too, thanks to the steady sound of waves
breaking in the little cove below and the almost alien whir of hummingbirds
darting among the flowers.

Suddenly one of the tiny hummingbirds
appeared a few feet in front of me, its glassy little eyes staring at me as its
wings beat so quickly they were a blur. It was cute, until the thing decided to
get a closer look at me. Hummingbirds move incredibly fast, so in a split-second
it was right in my face, that long, needle-like beak inches from my eye.

That freaked me out a bit and I yelled
reflexively, waving my hands to try to chase it off as I dodged to my right.
This didn’t deter the bird, though. Just the opposite. It actually became even
more interested in me and swooped in for another close look. Okay, no! I yelled
again and started bobbing and weaving around the lawn, swinging my arms wildly.
I really didn’t want to smack the bird away, but at the same time I wasn’t about
to stand still while it figured out that my eyeball wasn’t actually full of
nectar.

For some reason, part of my brain was
yelling at me to stop, drop, and roll. I don’t know why. The hummingbird wasn’t
on fire or anything. But I still went with it, flopping down on the grass and
rolling back and forth like a crazy person. The tiny hummingbird dive-bombed me
a couple times, its distinctive hum buzzing in my ears as I yelled, “No, quit
it! Get away!”

A shadow fell across me and the bird
took off like a shot. I stopped rolling and looked up at Vincent as I said,
“Please tell me you saw the hummingbird.”

“I did. What were you and he doing,
exactly?”

“Well, I assume he was trying to suck
the fluid from my eyeball, and I was trying to prevent that from happening,” I
told him as I sat up. The grass had apparently just been mowed and watered,
judging by the fact that I was totally green with grass stains and lawn
clippings, in addition to being completely soaked.

Vincent grinned, just a little, and held
his hand out to me. When I took it, he hoisted me to my feet. “Aside from
antagonizing the local wildlife, what are you doing here, Trevor?”

“Well, it’s like this. Apparently, your
grandmother watched a few too many Disney movies and fancies herself a bit of a
fairy godmother. She bought me a new wardrobe, loaded me up in a carriage – in
the form of a rented town car – and sent me off after Prince Charming.” I knit
my brows and said, “Well crap, I suppose in this analogy I’m Cinderella. I
should have thought that through before I started down the fairy tale path.”

“So, my grandmother is setting us up?”

“Apparently she felt drastic measures
were in order, since you weren’t returning my phone calls.”

His amused expression dropped away. “I
shouldn’t have done that. I was just really embarrassed after coming to you in
that condition.” He broke eye contact and I glanced at his wrists. They’d
completely healed from his assault. His face had, too.

“It’s fine. Really,” I said. He still
wasn’t looking at me. “Well, anyway, it seems we both fell for her ruse. She
told me the kitchen needed to be scrubbed top to bottom, and that I had to do
an inventory of all the cookware because the homeowner had only the barebones
basics. But it looks like the kitchen of a gourmet chef.”

“Nana told me that Johnnie had let the
landscaping go completely to hell. She begged me to come down and take care of
it so it didn’t ruin the wedding pictures.”

“Johnnie? Your brother owns this place?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. He’s done really well for
himself,” I said, and Vincent rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, real well. He’s a professional
boytoy, which I figure is a nicer word for him than gigolo. One of his sugar
mamas left him this house when she passed away.”

“Seriously?”

He glanced at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Would I really make up a story like that about my own brother?”

“Maybe, if you didn’t like him very
much.”

“I love Johnnie. He’s just made some
truly bizarre choices in his life. But then, who hasn’t really?”

The conversation ebbed at that at point
and we stood there awkwardly, the phrase
well, now what?
hovering
between us. After a moment I brushed my palms together, trying to wipe off some
of the grass clippings, and said, “Um, I think I’m going to go and try to
figure out how to get cleaned up, although I hate to track all of this into the
house.”

“There’s an outdoor shower around by the
pool,” he said, pointing to a little path cutting through the landscaping to my
right. “That might be your best bet.”

“Good idea. I’ll still need to go inside
and get a change of clothes, though.”